


S.O.S.

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Eventual James T. Kirk / Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Illness, Implied Boyce/Pike, M/M, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: Stimulant Overuse Syndrome.  In the back corridors of Starfleet Medical they simply called it an S.O.S.  The irony of that wasn’t lost on anyone, as they were usually the result of overwork during a serious incident or grueling, life-saving surgery.  Now McCoy has to face that he might have saved Jim’s life, only to ground himself.





	1. Chapter 1

Leonard didn’t notice anything at first. Riding high on the fact that _Jim wasn’t dead_ , when he went to file a report and found the computer had flagged passages in his dictation for manual review, he simply shrugged off the instances of ellipses as pauses he didn’t remember taking. It was to be expected really; it wasn’t like he had any practice describing magic elixirs made of augment super-blood.

Eating lunch with Nyota the next day he blinked and found her staring. Leaning forwards across the table, she looked on the verge of waving a hand in front of his face, frowning slightly as she said, “Earth to Len?”

He flushed in embarrassment, lowering the spoon that had been hovering over his soup. “Sorry,” What had she been saying? “Caught me woolgathering for a moment there.” Her face moved into a sympathetic expression; he’d been getting that a lot lately, since he’d pulled Jim back from death. In truth, he hadn’t actually been thinking about anything, but he shoved that aside and focused on her story. Quickly lost in conversation, he forgot the slip before the meal was over.

There had been an odd moment on the tram to Starfleet Medical that afternoon, when he suddenly realised it was his stop rather than the previous one he’d expected to see. Sleep: he needed more sleep, now that Jim was stable. Promising himself a night off, soon, he took a moment to enjoy the late September sunshine between the tramway and the building. There was still a faint hint of smoke and dust in the air, a constant reminder of the exclusion zone around the waterfront and the ongoing work to remove the hulk of the Vengeance; to find remains in the wrecked buildings. Shivering, despite the mild weather, he hurried into the hermetically managed medical facility and its comforting non-scent of scrubbed air and antiseptic.

Anticipation of seeing Jim put a spring in Leonard’s step and he caught himself softly whistling, _whistling_ while he waited for the lift. It put a spark of guilt in his belly given what so many others had lost, but he’d worked too hard for too many days to dwell on it.

Jim was sitting up in bed when Leonard arrived, still a little too pale, but a glance at the vital monitor confirmed that the captain was only continuing to improve. Dropping into the bedside chair with a grunt, he braced himself as his friend smiled winningly and pre-emptively replied, “No.”

“Bones,” Jim had the gall to feign hurt as he protested, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to. I know that smile.” Jabbing a thumb back over his shoulder at the monitor, Leonard growled, “You died, Jim. You can stay in the hospital a few more days until we’re ready to release you.” He was never sure what to expect when he opened the door to Jim’s private room. In the five days since the captain had startled awake after a coma his mood had shifted from relief so deep it was tinged with elation at having saved the ship and most of his crew, to mute horror at the death toll being reported on the ground in San Francisco. This Jim, with a familiar smile and wheedling to be released, was the most he could have hoped for, exasperating though it was.

“Aw, come on!” Youngest captain in the fleet and James Kirk could pout like a child when he wanted to.

“Don’t be an…” _infant_ caught in Leonard’s throat as the world suddenly tilted. Somehow, he was fuzzily aware that this was an unexpected development, but didn’t seem to be able to get his mouth to finish the sentence. Or say anything, for that matter.

The pout faded from Jim’s face as Leonard trailed off and turned ashen from the neckline of his odd white uniform to the roots of his dark hair. Jim had never seen the other man appear so pale; pulling himself up, even as he had to rely on the cushions behind him, he carefully asked, “Bones?” 

With a small, choked noise, Leonard tipped sideways and tumbled off the chair, landing heavily on the floor with a resounding smack. 

“Bones!”

When there was no reply, Jim pulled back the blanket and tried to step out of the bed, following Leonard to the floor when his legs didn’t quite hold him. Cursing, the captain propped himself up and crawled closer.

Leonard was sprawled on the floor where he’d landed, a slight twitching in his limbs that was more alarming than a welcome sign of life. 

Scrabbling a hand back towards the bed, Jim stretched for the call button and Leonard suddenly managed a modicum of coordination and made a grab for him with a weak cry of, “No!” 

Freezing in surprise, Jim looked from his friend to the bed and the device just out of reach. “Bones, you’re on the floor.” This was absurd; he amended, “We’re on the floor!”

“Call Philip Boyce.” It was hard to get the words out, what with the way the room was spinning. Closing his eyes for a moment, Leonard concentrated on what was important, gasping at what seemed like rarified air to be able to say, “Tell him S-O-S.”

“What?”

“He’ll know what it means.” Oh, god, he was going to vomit. Huffing quick breaths through his nose in an effort to keep his lunch where it was, Leonard nevertheless managed to get out, “Boyce, Jim. No one else.”

Boyce? The name was vaguely familiar, but Jim couldn’t put a face to it from memory. If the bed was far, the nightstand where his comm was seemed further. Quickly patting down Leonard revealed a comm in his pocket and Jim dipped his hand inside to retrieve the device. That the man didn’t growl some comment about getting fresh with him only sent another prickle of fear through the captain.

The connection was made almost immediately, an American accent briskly replying, “Boyce?”

“It’s Jim Kirk.” Stumbling over a greeting as he realised he didn’t know Boyce’s rank, he continued, “I’m with Leonard McCoy. He’s collapsed in my room; said to tell you S-O-S.” 

A muffled curse, then what sounded like a door being closed in the background, before Boyce gruffly addressed him again, “Have you called anyone else?”

“No.” Jim floundered, categorically unsure what he should be doing, “He said not to, but he doesn’t look good.”

“He’s breathing?”

_Breathing?_ Jim’s eyebrows just about hit his hairline as a frisson of concern turned to real fear. He grabbed his friend by the elbow, noting how the doctor’s breaths were coming fast and shallow. “Yeah, but like he could throw up.”

There was a clattering from the comm, as if it had been set down on a desk and the owner was doing something in the background. “I’ll be there soon. Tell the computer to put a privacy lock on the door. If anyone knocks, just holler, ‘manual evacuation of fecal impaction’.”

That took Jim a second to parse, then he yelped, “You want me to tell them Bones is digging _shit_ out of my _ass_?”

“Precisely. It’s disgusting enough they’ll leave you alone.” The comm channel closed with a snap.

Regarding the device in disbelief for a moment, Jim set it down and crawled closer to Leonard, running a hand over the other man’s shoulder until slightly unfocused hazel eyes met his own. Swallowing down a spike of fear, he softly said, “Bones?” The older man’s gaze only seemed to sluggishly track, so Jim kept up a gentle stroking of the doctor’s shoulder as he asked, “Hey? You with me?”

Leonard wet his lips, tongue seeming to get stuck for a moment before he swallowed convulsively and seemed to return more to the present. With a groan, he shifted into a more comfortable position on the floor and muttered, “Dammit.”

“What’s an SOS, Bones?”

Instead of answering, Leonard’s eyes flickered closed and he seemed to be trying to keep from passing out. Worrying his own lip with his teeth, Jim slid his hand up from the doctor’s shoulder and on to his forehead, pushing back disheveled brown hair. Unsure how to offer comfort, Jim forced himself to try to stay calm and wait. As Leonard’s breaths trailed into gasping pants, it wasn’t easy.

The door finally beeped as the privacy lock gave in to an override code. Sprawled on the floor, Jim blinked up at the older man who had just entered: it wasn’t the orderly or young doctor he had expected. This Boyce was tall, with fading blonde hair, blue eyes, and captain’s stripes apparent on his sleeves.

Immediately down to business, the older man first cast an eye over Jim, before turning his attention to Leonard. Waving a hand scanner, he asked, “Any preceding symptoms?” 

“I’ve had some absence seizures.” Leonard considered what he could remember and fear prickled the back of his neck. “At least four over the last two days.” Defensively, he added, “I hadn’t realized until now.” The simple effort of speaking seemed to make it even harder to breathe.

“Okay.” Boyce suddenly looked very tired, in a way that made a spark of fear settle deep in Jim’s gut. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he seemed to consider their surroundings for a moment before he announced, “Congratulations, Kirk, you’re getting discharged early.”

“No.” Forcing open eyes that had slipped closed, Leonard looked ready to argue further despite barely being able to roll over.

“McCoy, the only way you’re getting out of here unnoticed is on your own two feet, which means we need a decoy. Kirk is it.”

“He’s not ready.”

“No, but he’s not unready either.” Boyce scrubbed a hand through his thinning hair again, “I don’t like it either, but it’s the best we can do.” Moving quickly across the room, he retrieved a wheelchair that had been parked unobtrusively against the window. Putting on the brakes, he reached down and gripped Jim around the chest, grunting with effort as he pulled the younger man into the chair.

“Come on, McCoy,” Bending down, he attempted the same with the younger doctor. This time it was Leonard who let out a long groan as he was drawn upright, legs shaking and weak. Hand fisted in the back of Leonard’s waistband to keep him in some approximation of upright next to the wheelchair, he flipped open his comm with the other hand, “Boyce to medical transfer: I’d like to do a discharge by transport for the patient and two physicians in this room. Please use the location from my records designated as _Home 2_. I’ll also send a list of supplies for the same location.” Anyone else would probably be questioned, but with captain’s stripes and ‘fleet hierarchies at their disposal there was a simple acknowledgement before the room faded out.


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard lost the battle against throwing up. Spectacularly. At least his vision greyed out so he didn’t have to see it spattering down his front and over his shoes, but through ringing ears he heard Boyce give a grunt that sounded like, “Fucks’ sake.”

The room lurched as he was dropped down to sit on what felt like the edge of a bed as his clothes were efficiently tugged and stripped from his body. A pinch to the crook of his elbow felt like a blood sample being taken, but Leonard couldn’t quite follow what was happening. Heavy footsteps receded and he forced his eyes open to find Jim’s face startlingly close to his own.

“Bones?” 

Blinking, color bled back into his vision and he found himself sitting on the edge of a bed clad only in his boxers, soiled shoes abandoned a few feet away but no sign of his clothes or the other doctor.

“Hey,” Jim’s hand settled on his bare knee, “Bones, you okay?”

Worried, Leonard swallowed, cognitive faculties sluggishly coming back online with the realization that Jim looked far too worried.

“M’fine, Jim.” The slur in his words was not confidence inspiring.

The bedroom door opened, because they were clearly in someone’s bedroom, and Boyce reappeared, scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration as he glowered at a scanner. “Christ, McCoy, your bloodwork is a mess.”

The older man was barefoot, and it took Leonard a moment to realize that most likely meant he’d vomited on the captain’s feet as well. Cheeks pinking in embarrassment, he asked, “Phil?”

“Let’s get you horizontal and I’ll see what I can do.” Glancing sideways, Boyce added, “You too, Kirk, you look about ready to slide out of that chair.”

It took no small amount of maneuvering to get them both settled in the large bed. Side-by-side with separate blankets over them, Boyce grumbling under his breath as he tugged the not insignificant weight that was Kirk until the younger man was settled more comfortably. 

Leonard had closed his eyes against the lingering nausea, only opening them when a hypospray pressed to the side of his neck. Repeating himself, he softly asked, “Phil?”

“It’s not good, Leonard.” Jim gave a little startle at the use of the first name, but Boyce ignored it in favor of continuing to ask, “How long were you stim dependent?”

Voice increasingly raspy, Leonard tried to think back as best as he could, “A couple doses when we were going after Khan, then fully dependent when I needed to make the serum and manage Jim’s initial reactions to the transfusions. Once he’d been in a coma for a week or so I tried to go to an intermittent schedule— just to be able to manage some of the hiccups that kept cropping up. I thought I was trailing it off okay after Jim woke up five days ago.”

A muscle twitched in Boyce’s jaw as he brought up another scanner, switching attention between the readout and Leonard as he asked, “How long were you continuously awake?”

“I’m not sure.” Mumbling as whatever had been in the hypo started to take effect, he said, “Spock hauled me out of there a few times in the days after the transfusion, but I don’t know that I really slept.” Leonard risked a glance to the side and found Jim watching him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” Snapping the scanner shut, Boyce administered another hypo. “Let’s try starting you on this.” Clipping a monitoring bracelet around Leonard’s wrist he continued, “I’m going to requisition some more equipment. I’m concerned about the strain you put on your heart, as well as the potential neurological damage.” Watching as Leonard’s eyes started to slide shut, he gently finished, “You should sleep for a while. I’ll keep pushing the detox and neuroprotective regimen and get my hands on a grade II scanner.”

As Leonard’s breathing softened into sleep, Jim shifted his gaze to Boyce and said, “He should be in the hospital.” The undercurrent of accusation was plain.

“Leonard is under a lot of scrutiny right now.”

“He said I was _barely_ dead.”

Leaning down, Boyce held Jim’s gaze and softly said, “He lied.” Straightening up, he looked ready to say more, but instead simply shook his head and left, gently closing the bedroom door as he did so.

Turning his head sideways, Jim contemplated the sweep of Leonard’s nose and curl of his bangs. The smudges under his eyes were almost as dark as bruises. He reached out with a clumsy hand and traced a finger over the other man’s wrist as he softly asked, “What the hell happened, Bones?”


	3. Chapter 3

Six hours later and the room was bathed in light from a blood red sunset. Boyce had been in several times to check on them, a frown knitting his eyebrows as he administered hypos according to some schedule Jim didn’t understand. Through it all, Leonard hadn’t so much as twitched, not even when Boyce had hauled Jim up and walked him to the en suite bathroom and back.

Jim dozed through the afternoon— the stress of watching Leonard’s collapse had left him feeling drained. It was another reminder of the fact that he was far from recovered himself, and the immobility had a febrile itch clawing at him to get up and do something.

Boyce stuck his head around the door to abruptly ask, “Can you feed yourself?”

Somewhat tetchily, Jim replied, “Well, I wouldn’t try soup or anything…”

Boyce gave a grunt that could have been assent, and disappeared.

Rolling onto his side and tentatively reaching out, Jim gently touched Leonard’s bare shoulder. The warmth of his skin was a reassuring counterpoint to the waxy complexion of the older man’s face. “I have to say, Bones, I thought your bedside manner could leave a lot to be desired, but then I met Boyce. Do they teach you that at SFM, or…”

“Just lay off, Jim.”

Jim snatched his hand back at the unexpected response, heart thudding in surprise for a moment before he managed to gasp, “What?”

Leonard’s eyes opened sluggishly, turning his head towards the other man as he said, “He was close to Pike.”

Jim felt his stomach sink into the approximate region of his boots, if he’d been wearing any boots. “Seriously?”

“They were at the academy, then served together a couple times before Chris got his first command and Phil was his CMO.” Leonard made a half-hearted attempt to roll over and face Jim, before thinking better of it and simply admitting, “I always kind of wondered if there wasn’t more going on, but never really dared to ask.”

“Pike and Boyce?” Jim’s voice took on a strangled tone, “Together?”

The admiral had never mentioned anyone. There hadn’t been any photos in his office or signs that the older man had someone to go home to. Jim felt a wave of unease he didn’t quite understand.

“Hey.” Jim blinked at Leonard’s voice, suddenly realizing he’d been lost in thought. Turning his head, he found the doctor’s expressive eyebrows pulled together in concern. Softly, Leonard asked, “You really didn’t know?”

Mutely, Jim shook his head, unsure why it _bothered_ him so much. Pike had been his mentor, professionally and, if Jim were to admit it, personally as well. He wished he’d asked more questions. Closing his eyes as they started to burn, Jim realized he’d taken for granted that the older man would be around forever.

Composing himself, Jim opened his eyes a few minutes later and found that instead of waiting patiently, Leonard had in fact gone back to sleep.

The bedroom door opened and Boyce returned carrying a tray. Jim let himself be helped up to sit against the headboard, supported by extra pillows. As the tray was set across his lap Jim chanced a more careful glance at the other man’s face. Lines that he’d taken as age now looked more like markers of recent stress around slightly puffy blue eyes. The tray had a sandwich, bottle of water, and a sliced apple. Helping himself to a section, he watched as Boyce used what looked like a more sophisticated scanner to carefully examine Leonard.

Swallowing, Jim asked, “How’s he doing?”

Frowning, Boyce consulted the readouts then snapped the device shut. “Ideally, I’d like to have him in an imaging unit.” Setting down the scanner, he started going through a kit of hypospray cartridges. “He’s incredibly lucky he simply collapsed rather than having a heart attack or stroke.” Selecting one, he loaded it into the hypo and depressed it into Leonard’s neck. “The absence seizures are a problem: a clear indication of neurodegeneration.” 

Food forgotten, Jim just wanted to understand what the hell was going on. Trying to find the right avenue, he anchored on a comment from earlier, “You said Bones is under a lot of scrutiny right now.”

“What has he told you about what happened?” Boyce moved to sit on the edge of the bed, Leonard not even stirring as the mattress dipped.

“He said I was barely dead; that the transfusion was what really took it out of me.”

“That’s a pleasant fiction.” Closing his eyes for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts, Boyce waited a moment before continuing. “You died in the warp reactor, and were in a body bag by the time they took you to the med bay.”

Jim felt something twist inside him; Bones hadn’t mentioned that. He’d assumed they’d swooped in and fished him out of the core after he’d passed out. Maybe even resuscitated him right there in engineering, before using the transfusion to fix the massive cellular damage that would have resulted from the radiation.

Seeing that his words had an impact, Boyce continued carefully, “You died, Jim. You were in cryostasis, clinically dead, for over 24 hours as Leonard worked non-stop to synthesize a serum from Khan’s blood. The transfusion worked, but it triggered massive systemic reactions that just about killed you all over again. And he had to do it all while the medical ethics board were trying to figure out what was going on... With the threat they’d make him stop.”

Softly, Jim quoted, “ _Above all, I must not play at God_.” Modern medical ethics weren’t grounded in notions of deities, but some ideas persisted nonetheless. 

Boyce nodded. “There was a hearing, of sorts, a few days ago. I gave some testimony, and encouraged a few other senior medics who have deep space service records to speak out as well. I think SFM has decided not to pursue it, hard to court-martial the doctor who revived Earth’s savior.” Glancing down at Leonard, he admitted, “But this could get him declared psychologically unfit for command, for compromised judgement, endangering his own health and abusing stims, or clinically unfit for a starship posting depending on the neurological damage.”

Sifting through the vials again, Boyce kept his eyes down as he muttered, “They could take my medical licence for this.” Snapping the new vial into a hypo, he continued more clearly, “Good thing I don’t care. Lord knows Chris would’ve been able to tell me if I’m being an idiot or not.” 

Taking a risk, Jim said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Boyce’s shoulders seemed to slump, but he gave a little convulsive nod of acknowledgement before asserting, “Chris believed in you, Kirk.” With a weak smile, he added, “He was always right, insufferable as it could be.”

The hypo was pressed into Leonard’s neck and Jim watched with interest as the doctor’s respiration slowly increased until hazel eyes blinked open.

“Len?”

An initial frown of confusion faded and Leonard seemed to remember where he was. With a quick glance to the side as if to reassure himself that Jim was there, he replied, “Yeah, Phil?”

“How are you feeling?”

Leonard took stock and grimaced, “Bit of a headache. Achy all over.”

Boyce nodded, but didn’t offer another hypo. Pulling out a padd instead, he passed it to the younger man. “Here’s what I got with a type II scanner and blood tests. We’d need an imaging unit for more.” He waited while Leonard skimmed the results, then said, “As your doctor, the recommended course of action would be to take you back to SFM for detailed scans. I can get some expert consults as well; if you want to try going beyond standard treatment approaches we can do that.”

The other option was clearly implied. “I want to stay off the radar.” Suddenly uncertain as he more fully appreciated the implications for Boyce as well, Leonard tensed and set down the padd, “Unless you don’t want me here, knowing more about what you’re dealing with.” 

“Bones…”

Leonard shrugged, not meeting Jim’s eyes. Attention still on Boyce, he replied, “Either I’ve fucked myself or not: we’ll only know in time. If they find out they could hold it against me. I’d never be allowed back on the Enterprise.”

Boyce crossed his arms, “I won’t clear you for duty if you’re not totally fit at the end of this.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Something was shared between the doctors that Jim didn’t quite understand. Boyce picked up the padd, skimming it again for himself before seeming to square his shoulders. “Alright. I’m going to borrow some neural regenerators, start you on them along with the drug regimen, and get a cortical stimulator to have on standby.” Leonard nodded and the older man’s attention shifted, “Kirk.” When Jim looked up, a ghost of something that might have been a smile crossed Boyce’s face, “Eat your sandwich.”

Obediently, Jim took a bite and the doctor gave a short nod of approval before quickly leaving the room, presumably to sort out the medical supplies.

Jim ate the sandwich and his apple, dropping the tray to the side of the bed but keeping the bottle of water handy. It was a stalling tactic, but an unsuccessful one, as he finished the meal to find Leonard was still awake and watching him.

“You got something to say, kid?” There wasn’t any heat in Leonard’s tone, just a weary raised eyebrow and a hint of concern. Concern for Jim.

Turning the water bottle over in still-clumsy hands, the younger man tried to get his rattling thoughts in order. Falling back on to the one certainty he had: “You should be in the hospital, Bones.”

“Just about any other medic probably would be,” Leonard conceded, watching Jim carefully.

“So why can’t you be? Shit, Bones, this is serious. When you first collapsed Boyce asked me if you were even _breathing_. Do you know what that’s like?”

“Yes, Jim, I do.” The truth in that simple statement seemed to suck some of the air from the room. “I think we’ve established that I’d do anything for you.”

A moment, then Jim’s soft reply, “I wouldn’t ask you to hurt yourself, Bones.”

“You don’t think so.” Some emotion that was normally suppressed bled into Leonard’s tone, “You just ask me to pull miracles out of my ass on a weekly basis, fix things I’ve never seen before and sometimes can barely imagine, all while not hyperventilating at the fact that I’m living my worst nightmare by courting death in shuttles on a regular basis, and Jim: you have in fact stopped breathing on more than one occasion.”

He didn’t sound angry. Not really. Jim was well acquainted with what _angry McCoy_ sounded like. Stretched out on the bed, sallow-faced, Bones just sounded tired.

Setting the bottle down, Jim slid a tentative hand across the bed until he could gently touch Leonard’s shoulder. The muscle was twitching; little leaps and tremors under his fingertips that didn’t feel normal. “I’m sorry.”

Leonard gave a grunt, eyes slipping closed as he slurred in reply, “After all’that, can’t seem to stay awake.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jim woke to find it was morning and someone was leaning over the bed. Startling in surprise, it took a moment to remember where he was, and why the other man, Boyce, would be frowning. Quickly glancing to the side revealed Leonard, either deeply asleep or sedated, neural regenerators strapped across his forehead.

“Is he…”

Boyce gave a noncommittal gesture that had tension curling in Jim’s gut. Consulting a scanner, the doctor replied, “We’ll know a little more later today, after a full sixteen hours under the regen.”

Sixteen hours? Jim had suffered head injuries before, including a couple spectacular concussions where he hadn’t been sure his eyes would point in the same direction afterwards. He’d had four, _maybe_ even eight hour spells under the regen units. Sixteen hours meant it was serious. Before he could ask more, Boyce made a motion to indicate he should try sitting up.

Jim complied, arms shaking as he pulled himself upright against the headboard.

The doctor nodded, as if Jim had confirmed something he’d suspected as he said, “We need to start you on physical therapy. I’ve put in a call and arranged for the man who worked with Chris after the Narada to come to the house. He’s discreet, and can work with you in another room. There’s no need for him to know Leonard is even here.” Pulling back the blankets, Boyce hauled Jim up and into the wheelchair, efficiently stripping off his hospital issue shirt a moment later. “Come on, you’re well overdue for a shower.” He gave a smile that almost reached his eyes and an exaggerated wrinkle of his nose, “I’m not going to subject Thomas to your particular bouquet just because he’s kind enough to make house calls.”

Unsure how to respond to the older man’s strange mix of gruffness and care, Jim injected some levity into his tone as he replied, “Is that your way of telling me I stink?”

Rolling the chair towards the bathroom, Boyce lightly replied, “You said it, not me.” There was a plastic chair in the shower and the doctor used a carefully clinical touch to quickly strip Jim fully and get him settled. “Yell if you need help or are done. If you’re not finished in ten minutes I’m coming in after you.” 

Alone, Jim dialled up the temperature in the shower and hissed in appreciation as the hot water ran over his body. The soap, fuck, it was Pike’s. Jim recognized the undernote of spice he’d come to associate with the older man. Boyce had probably just left him whatever was normally in the shower. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to lather up, rinsing thoroughly as soon as he could.

When Boyce returned with a towel he seemed to falter in the doorway for a moment. Something shuttered in his expression and he was back to business: helping Jim into a clean pair of sweats and into the wheelchair. Instead of returning to the bedroom, Boyce pushed the chair down a hallway, through a living room and into a kitchen. Large windows overlooked the ocean and Jim twisted in the chair to look up at Boyce. “Where are we?”

“Bolinas. We both had ‘fleet housing on campus, but bought this place for when we needed to be away from it all.” Putting the brakes on the chair, Boyce turned and set a plate of food on the table in front of Jim. “Thomas will be here at one to put you through the motions.” Setting a padd on the table, he continued, “I’ve put an official note in your file that you’ve been transferred from SFM for continued physical rehabilitation. Thomas can add his notes directly, so anyone looking will just see evidence of continued treatment. Leonard I’ve listed as on stand-down for seven days. We can extend it if we need to, but that will at least prevent anyone from trying to haul him in for debriefing.”

Nodding his appreciation, Jim helped himself to a forkful of scrambled eggs, masking frustration when his fine motor control wasn’t quite good enough to get the majority of it to his mouth.

Tapping the padd, Boyce said, “I’d imagine your crew will wonder where you are. Probably best if you proactively send a few messages before they come looking.” Sensing Jim’s resistance to the idea of deceit, even by omission, he pressed, “I know you trust your crew, but the less anyone knows the less likely they could get hauled in if it blows up in our faces.”

“Okay.” Sliding the padd towards himself, Jim set it at his elbow while he continued to eat. Damn, he was starving. Spock would take some convincing: he’d been a daily visitor to Jim’s hospital room. _Vulcans cannot lie_. Memories started to rise of searing pain and hands pressed to transparent aluminum, which Jim quickly suppressed. He glanced up from his eggs to find Boyce watching him closely. Mustering up a weak smile, he shoveled more food in his mouth to forestall further conversation.

Boyce sniffed, turning back to the stove and fiddling with something on a burner.

Thomas the physiotherapist was in his mid thirties and briskly competent: clearly having reviewed whatever medical data Boyce had provided in advance, and pushing Jim hard even in this first session. _“Your body’s up to it, Kirk. I won’t let you overdo it, but I’ll encourage anything up to that point. You’ll get out of this what you put into it.”_

Three hours later Boyce was helping a sweaty, exhausted Jim back to the en suite bathroom; it didn’t escape the younger man’s notice that the soap had been replaced with a standard, ‘fleet issue variety. The hot water was even better after the exertion of the afternoon and Jim allowed himself to linger in the warmth, letting his mind go carefully blank and focus on the physical sensations instead.

After his second shower of the day, Boyce helped Jim back to the guest bedroom. Leonard was still on his back on the far side of the bed, now wearing clean pyjamas and without the neural regenerators, but otherwise no evidence of having moved.

Rolling onto his side to more carefully scrutinize the other man, Jim asked, “How is he?”

“He may have a headache, but I don’t want to give him any more drugs than are absolutely essential. He’ll probably need more time under the regen units tomorrow— too much at once can trigger seizures as well. We’ll talk later. Take a nap and I’ll wake you for dinner.”

Boyce closed the door as he left and Jim tugged the blanket up over his shoulders. He closed his eyes, and listened to the slow in-out of Leonard’s breathing, trying to match the other man breath for breath.

Fear. 

Clawing up his chest and constricting his throat even as the pain made grey spots dance at the edge of his vision. He was going to die.

The world seemed to lurch sickeningly to one side. Was the ship still falling?

Jim’s own words seemed to stick in his throat: I want you to know why I couldn't let you die. Why I went back for you.

 _Because you are my friend_.

He was going to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t...

_Jim?_

“Jim!”

Eyes snapping open, Jim realized his heart was pounding and he was trembling all over. White. Ceiling. Disoriented, it took him a moment to recognize the voice at his side that said, “Easy, Jim.”

Bones.

“You didn’t tell me you were having nightmares.” Blinking, Jim rolled over to find Leonard watching him with an assessing gaze. “You should talk to someone. You’ll need to pass a psych eval to get back in the chair.”

Licking his lips, Jim tried to get the lingering nervous energy under control as he replied, “I’ve been passing psych evals since I was fourteen.”

Ignoring the flippant remark, Leonard softly said, “We could ask Phil who worked with Chris.” Moving with a grunt that might have been pain, the older man shifted and rolled over so they were facing each other with a no-man’s land of mattress between them. “He must have completed a fair amount of therapy, given they were willing to give him back the Enterprise after Nibiru.” _After Nero_ , went unsaid.

Even now, Leonard was more concerned with Jim than himself. The singular focus left the younger man uneasy. Lingering tendrils of the nightmare made him shiver, one hand snaking out almost involuntarily, fingers trying to ground themselves in the fabric covering Leonard’s shoulder.

“Jim?”

He snatched his hand back with a mumbled, “Sorry.” What the hell had he been thinking?

“S’okay.” Leonard’s eyes drifted closed, a line between his eyebrows reminding Jim of Boyce’s earlier words.

“Headache?” When a grunt was his only reply, Jim tentatively reached out again and carefully pressed his hand against the other man’s forehead.

Leonard inhaled in surprise, then leaned into the gesture. Emboldened, Jim slid his hand further, fingers weaving through dark hair. It wasn’t what he’d imagined: sweat and day old styling product made the locks greasy between his fingers. The older man let out a long, slow breath and Jim slid his hand forward, then back, pads of his fingers gently pressing. Leonard’s hair was shorter than when they’d first met; the sideswept bangs that used to fall over his face after a long day now more closely cropped.

They all looked older, Jim knew. Himself as much as anyone. Bones, though… despite the pain-pinched features and a few new lines at the edges of his eyes he was still as handsome as ever.

Leonard sighed again, making a lazy roll of his neck that was almost feline, a gesture he’d never let anyone see if he’d been feeling well. Opening his eyes, he gave a little twist to press his head against Jim’s palm to indicate the other man shouldn’t stop. “That’s good.”

Dozy Bones was rare; unguarded Bones rarer still. Even under the circumstances, Jim couldn’t keep a small smile off his face in response. He pressed more firmly against Leonard’s scalp and one of the little lines of pain seemed to smooth away as the older man’s eyes closed again.

 _As handsome as ever_. 

Jim frowned. Where the hell had that come from? He started to pull his hand back, but stilled when Leonard made a little noise of protest high in his throat. Forcing down his own jumble of emotion, Jim hitched himself slightly closer to make it more easy to continue without his arm being so extended. 

A few minutes and more of the pained creases on Leonard’s forehead had been eased. Taking a breath, the older man forced his eyes open so he could study Jim as he asked, “How’re you feeling?”

Jim snorted, softly, missing the flash of emotion that crossed Leonard’s face in response. “I’m fine, Bones.” Sensing he’d somehow misstepped, he added, “A physical therapist came earlier. Same one who worked with Chris, after.” He cleared his throat when it seemed to tighten for a second, blotting out the rest of the sentence. “He worked me over, but it was good. He’s going to come daily; thinks I can be back on my feet in a week or two if I stick to the plan.” Leonard seemed to relax further at that and Jim murmured what he should have said days ago, “Thanks to you.”

Leonard’s eyes flickered up quickly from where his gaze had slipped down to the mattress. The exhaustion of the day made Jim feel oddly pliable, and he ran his hand down the side of Leonard’s neck to settle on the other man’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze as he said, “I need you to be okay, Bones.” 

Jim was scared. Even if the younger man didn’t recognize the emotion for himself, Leonard could tell. He wished he could respond with an assertion that things would be fine or a confidence he didn’t feel, but instead just replied, tiredly, “I don’t know where I gave you the impression I was a miracle worker.”

It wasn an echo of the conversation the night before, and Jim didn’t feel any more equipped to deal with it. Settling on the one thing he did know, he said, “I’m sorry.” A ripple that could have been concealed emotion crossed Leonard’s face. Anchoring himself with a hand on the older man’s shoulder, Jim forced himself to say more, “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, after Chris. I’m sorry I snapped at you when you tried to do your job.” This was straying into a conversation about emotion— not something Jim Kirk did, if there was any way of avoiding it. He had to swallow to get out the next words, “I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate what you did for me.”

Leonard’s eyebrows shifted; an expression on his face Jim would best describe as slightly stunned. 

The younger man didn’t know what it meant, and it left him grasping for anything reminiscent of normal footing for them. One point came to mind: “Just one thing,” Jim couldn’t keep his eyes from twinkling as he strayed towards safer ground, “The Gorn octuplets story, Bones? Seriously?”

Cheeks pinking, Leonard had to resist the urge to bury his face in the pillow at the memory, “Yeah, well, what do you expect by making me jealous?”

“You said you’d work some magic on her missile!” Jim couldn’t resist a laugh at the memory, and Leonard eventually allowed an embarrassed chuckle as well. 

Sobering, Jim carefully watched Leonard’s face for signs of deception as he asked, “How are you feeling, Bones? Really?”

“Like Sulu used me as a landing pad.” He considered, and added, “But maybe a little better than last night.” Leonard’s smile was weak; intended to be reassuring, but a shadow of normal.

Jim tried to clamp down on relief that was far too premature to be given free rein. It seemed like Leonard wasn’t doing anything but sleeping, yet the other man appeared to be drifting again. _What do you expect by making me jealous?_ The words from a minute ago made Jim frown and softly ask, “You were jealous of me? Because Carol acted interested?” Leonard had never expressed jealousy of Jim’s string of partners. Not really. Why Carol’s attention would be different… maybe it was just finally that long since the divorce.

“Yeah, sure Jim.” Dozy McCoy was back and the words were slurred. Leonard closed his eyes before the other man could ask more.

Carefully pulling back his hand when Leonard’s breathing evened out, Jim worried his lower lip between his teeth. He felt like an asshole, even if he didn’t quite understand why. He hadn’t _asked_ Bones to do this. Hell, he’d never want the other man to sacrifice himself. That’s what Jim was supposed to be doing in the warp core: saving the crew.

Leonard gave a little snuffle, even breaths hitching before resuming, and Jim caught himself nearly reaching out to check on the other man again. 

Hands to yourself, Kirk, he told himself, and even his eternal monologue had a wry note to it. Leonard’s respiration hitched again and Jim found himself holding his own breath until the doctor gave a little snort and inhaled deeply. 

“Dammit, Bones.” Jim pressed his fingers against his eyelids, hard enough to summon whorls of light as he softly said, “I need you to be okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

Leonard didn’t wake up for dinner. Boyce gave him some kind of nutrient hypo and strapped the neural regenerators back into place. That done, he regarded Jim with an assessing gaze that left the young captain feeling stripped bare; more exposed than when he’d actually been naked in front of the doctor.

“Come on.” Boyce tugged Jim’s blanket aside, “Up.”

Gently manhandling Jim into the wheelchair, Boyce pushed him through the house and up to the kitchen table where plates had been set out for two.

As the older man busied himself setting out glasses of water, Jim inspected the food: some sort of falafel thing that was essentially finger-food for adults. For all the gruff exterior, Boyce was at least thoughtful.

Dropping into his own chair with a grunt, the older man stabbed his fork in the air towards Jim and commanded, “Eat, you’ve used more energy today than you realize.”

Obediently, Jim put a piece in his mouth and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was good. Really good. He chewed and swallowed quickly, grabbing a second as soon as he could and stuffing it into his mouth.

Across the table Boyce applied himself to his own meal, suppressing a comment about the importance of chewing. He waited until Jim had noticeably slowed down before taking a sip of water and asking, “You two get a chance to talk?”

Jim wasn’t sure how to describe what had been said in the captain’s guest bedroom. He twitched one shoulder in a gesture that might have been a shrug and replied, “More or less.”

Setting down his glass, Boyce twisted it where it had sweated a ring of condensation on the wooden table. “Sometimes a captain will treat everyone on board like a human being except himself.” Boyce paused, waiting to be sure he had Jim’s full attention before adding, “Some CMOs do that too.”

Jim blinked, considering. After a moment, his eyes dropped back down to his near empty plate.

“Christ,” Boyce stood up abruptly, striding out of the kitchen and into the more formal dining area. Jim heard a clink of glass and the sound of a bottle being unstoppered, then the older man returned bearing two glasses of amber liquid. Setting one down in front of Jim, Boyce returned to his own seat and held the glass up in a mock salute as he said, “Sometimes a man will tell his bartender things he'll never tell his doctor.” He waited until Jim raised his own glass in acknowledgement, then added, “Cheers.”

They each drank, Jim making an involuntary noise in his throat at the smooth burn of the single malt. Boyce chuckled at the nearly sexual sound, obviously aware he’d broken out the good stuff. “Now that you’ve cleared your throat, Kirk, talk.”

Jim barked out a laugh that was half surprise, shaking his head sheepishly as he took another quick sip. He looked up to find Boyce still watching him expectantly; no hope of avoiding the older man’s scrutiny. Falling back on what he’d murmured to himself earlier, Jim said, “I need him to be okay.”

Boyce inclined his head, unwilling to offer reassurances without real confidence behind them.

When the other man only waited, Jim found himself filling the silence, “I need him up there. I can’t… we met on the shuttle. Did you know? We were the only two in civvies. There was blood all over my t-shirt and he hadn’t shaved and smelled like a distillery. Kept drinking from his flask in between bitching about his divorce, aviophobia and all the ways we could die in space. We were the most unlikely cadets you’d ever seen; people said we’d wash out within a month.” Taking another sip of his drink, Jim found himself smiling at the memory, ridiculous though it was. “The medical housing had already all been allocated and they sure as hell hadn’t been expecting me. I think Pike pulled some strings because we wound up in a double across from Cochrane Hall and then…” A half-shrug glossed over months of bitching about freshmen and late nights and dashing across campus from class to class and Bones chasing him around with STD hypos and working their way through the sleepier bars of San Francisco. “We were friends.”

“You have many of those?”

“Not since…” _Tarsus_ threatened to strangle him; Jim’s throat closed convulsively at the poisoned name and he had to try another response, “If I’d had friends I wouldn’t have been able to show up for that shuttle on seven hours notice still looking like I’d been in a fight.”

“Chris said you had napkins hanging out of your nose the night you met.” Something fond flitted across Boyce’s face before his expression briefly threatened to crumple.

Trying to stay away from territory that was too emotional for either of them, Jim continued his answer from before: “I do now.” Hell, he could claim he’d gone into the core out of duty, but he’d been busted back to commander for friendship. The thread of self-sufficiency that he’d clung to for over a decade wasn’t the creed it had been when he was younger. “I went into the core to save the crew, and everyone on the ground,” Jim licked his lips, voice rasping as he continued, “but I’d die for them all over again.” The nuance in the inflection of _them_ made it clear he was talking about something or someone more specific. Rolling his glass between the palms of his hands, Jim softly said, “I don’t want Bones to hurt himself for me.”

Having been on the other side of the sentiment himself, Boyce gave a snort that was more fond than sarcastic as he replied, “The feeling is probably mutual.”

Jim shifted in his seat, unsure of the gnawing sensation low in his belly at the older man’s words.

Reaching across to top up both of their glasses in turn, Boyce set the heavy bottle down on the wooden tabletop with a dull clunk. “A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on, and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.” Raising his glass in a brief salute, he said, “Leonard may have his grouchy old man act down, but he charges into doing what he thinks is the right thing as surely as you do.” Taking another sip, the older man seemed to take a moment to gather himself before he continued, “Captains don’t always know what they ask of their CMOs, especially good ones like Leonard.”

“Last night he said I ask him to pull miracles out of his ass on a weekly basis.”

“Do you?”

“Well…” Jim considered and realized he didn’t have a good answer. Uncomfortably, defensively, he replied, “Not his _ass_.”

“Kirk,” and there some something in his tone that made it sound more like _kid_ , “It’s a hell of a thing at the best of times: the relationship between a captain and his chief medical officer. You’re both tasked with keeping the crew alive, through hell or high water, expected to patch up the captain no matter what damn fool situation he throws himself into and god help you if you _care_ for the stubborn fool.”

Jim nodded. He cared for Bones, and he knew the other man cared for him. Best friends.

Watching Jim’s expression closely, Boyce released a chuff of air from his throat. Kicking his legs out under the table and rocking onto the back legs of his chair, the older man changed the subject.

The meltdown taking place in the admiralty was a more than distracting subject of conversation. It turned out that Boyce was privy to pretty high level fleet gossip, and Jim listened with interest. The maneuvering for control was clearly well underway, and it sounded like Barnett and Chandra were going to come out on top, with Lui’s support. That served Jim well enough: they may have butted heads over the Kobayashi Maru, but the admirals had been Pike’s friends through and through.

They drank and talked and drank and talked until Jim was forced to admit he was feeling the alcohol; it was a reminder that his body mass wasn’t what it had been a few weeks before. He wasn’t sure what time it was when Boyce declared it bedtime, taking the breaks off the chair and wheeling Jim back to the bedroom. Letting himself be helped, Jim sprawled into what had become his side of the bed, only dimly aware of Boyce carefully removing the regen units from Leonard’s forehead before he fell asleep.

**********

Jim woke to light filtering around the curtains and a blessedly clear head: Boyce must have hit him with a detox hypo after putting him to bed. Rolling onto his side revealed Leonard loosely wrapped in his own quilt. The neural regenerators were gone and the older man’s hair was standing up in tousled disarray; sunlight streaming around the edge of the curtains picked out highlights of lighter brown that usually weren’t visible under the stark lights of the med bay. As Jim watched, a frown flitted across Leonard’s features, culminating in a groan and shift.

It seemed like the other man was waking up, and Jim couldn’t resist asking, “Bones?”

The whisper was returned just as softly, with a rasp of, “Jim?”

“Hey,” Jim took in the tension that had gathered on Leonard’s face and asked, “Another headache?”

“Hmmmmm,” there was agreement in the hummed note, although Leonard didn’t open his eyes even as he mumbled, “Kind of all over too.”

Still wrapped in his own quilt, Jim hitched himself across the mattress until he could wrap an arm around the other man, pulling Leonard close and pressing his chin into slightly sweaty brown hair.

There were sharp angles on Leonard’s body that hadn’t been there the last time he’d pulled the other man into a loose hug, weeks ago, after the Kaitan engagement. Jim remembered that embrace now in clear detail: stumbling off the transporter padd after being beamed straight out of a firefight, Ensign Kelly’s blood tacky as it began to dry on the front of his uniform. He’d run to the med bay after the gurney, standing back from the brief flurry of activity and wailing monitors that preceded the doctor’s shoulders slumping with a muttered, “Goddamn it.” Bones had only taken a scant few seconds to gather himself before turning to report almost apologetically, “He’s dead, Jim.”

Jim’s vision blurred where his own blood was seeping out of a long cut on his hairline and trickled down his forehead to irritate his eyes. Kelly was only twenty-one years old, fresh out of the academy. It could just as easily have been Jim on that biobed: would have been, but for the random chance of having been a moving target. Bones knew it as well, from the wideness of his eyes as he looked the captain over from head to toe. Jim stepped forward then, pulling the other man into a loose hug, unsure who it was meant to comfort.

This gesture, in a sunlit bedroom outside of San Francisco, had nothing of the desperation of the previous embrace, but it was by no means any less sincere.

Eyes still closed, Leonard relaxed into the embrace even as he asked, “What’re you doing, Jim?”

Jim shrugged in a gesture that could be felt as well as seen. Damned if he knew.

Leonard muttered something indistinct, but didn’t seem to be objecting. It felt good, surprisingly good, holding Bones close like this. Jim hitched himself closer, to the point that he was pressed flush against the other man’s body, able to feel his firm bulk even with the layers of quilt between them. They’d shared beds before, even shared warmth on the second year survival training course, but this felt different than collapsing after an all-nighter in the library or still drunk after a big night out.

The enormity of what Bones had done was sinking in: throwing everything into saving Jim. Risking his career, his ethics, even his health. And in return, Leonard might never fly again. While the other man had claimed to be an aviophobe, he’d come into his own running the med bay of the flagship. Sure, he could head up some research group at ‘fleet medical, but the Enterprise was home. It was as much of a family as either of them had. As Jim could ever remember having, if he was honest.

At the heart of it was Bones: collected in the med bay, if a little excitable on the bridge. Grouching at clumsy ensigns, but more caring than any other doctor in the fleet as he patched up minor injuries. If Bones was notorious for being a little heavy-handed with the hypos, when Jim would visit inpatient crewmen late at night after the latest scrape the sense of calm was always what struck him. They might grumble about their vaccinations, but their trust in their CMO was absolute. Hell, he’d probably memorized everyone’s allergies on top of Jim’s. 

An avenging angel with a med kit strap across his chest and a hypo in each hand. Bones. _As handsome as ever._

Something tugged unexpectedly in Jim’s chest and he pulled Leonard more tightly against him. Licking his lips, steeling himself with the feel of the other man’s head tucked under his chin, Jim said, “When you said you’d do anything for me…”

“I meant it.”

“I know.” This wasn’t the way to have this conversation: not meeting each other’s eyes. Close but not really touching with Boyce’s quilts in between. Thinking back more carefully, Jim felt a strange sort of realization and pressed his chin more firmly into Leonard’s hair. “You weren’t jealous of me.” 

Through the layers of quilts, a faint twitch was just perceptible in response.

Trying to understand what logic was inexorably telling him, Jim breathed, “You didn’t like Carol.

Silence, then a long, slow breath and in an almost resigned drawl: “No, Jim, I didn’t like Carol.”

Words failing him, Jim swallowed, then leapt without looking and pressed a kiss to Leonard’s temple.

Leonard did open his eyes then, the slight pinch of pain at the edges vanishing into surprise and tentatively something else as he pulled back and rolled over to be able to meet Jim’s gaze. The enormity of what had just happened made it hard for Jim to breathe as Leonard shifted, squirming out of his hold and turning. When the older man did speak, it wasn’t what the captain expected: “I might not make it back from this, Jim.” Starting to shake his head, Jim’s protest was forestalled by a firm grip to his biceps. “I might not.”

The sincerity in Leonard’s hazel eyes made Jim lightheaded. He knew what was being asked: are you sure, if I can’t be with you? 

Briefly weighing actions and words, Jim simply leaned in again. Their mouths were sour with sleep and the angle was awkward, but Bones made a little noise in the back of his throat and Jim wanted nothing more than to start every morning this way, for the rest of his life. Eventually pulling back, Jim realised that this wasn’t anything new, perhaps not for either of them. “Why didn’t you ever…”

Leonard’s mouth twisted in one-half of a smile and answered in his own fragment: “I never thought you’d want…”

Surprised, Jim huffed out something that was almost a laugh, although devoid of humor. He leaned in and snagged Leonard’s lips again for a quick kiss. Remembering his observation from the day before, he admitted, “I guess I grew up, Bones.” Another deeper, lingering kiss. “Finally realised what I had all along.”

When Jim pulled back it was to find that a broad smile had finally chased the pained lines from Leonard’s face. He slid a hand up to weave his fingers in the close cropped hair and cup the curve of Leonard’s jaw. “Thank you, Bones.”

“Always, Jim.”


	6. Chapter 6

Boyce took it in stride. Leonard swore he heard a muttered _finally_ when the older man opened the bedroom door and found Jim playing big spoon to his little. Nothing was said beyond that, but after moving them both to the living room so Boyce could clean and air out the bed, get Leonard through his first shower in days, and finally have them both clumsily eat breakfast at the kitchen table, they returned to find the bed had been remade with a single quilt.

Falling back onto the mattress with a groan of relief, Leonard quirked an eyebrow back at Jim, still perched in the wheelchair, “Guess this means he approves.”

Jim laughed, but was surprised to realize that actually seemed to _matter_. Leaning forward in the chair and tugging the quilt over Leonard, he bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the other man’s forehead. It felt good so he did it again, running a hand through freshly washed hair as he did so and trying to keep from grinning too broadly as the other man leaned into the touch.

It was a relief to see Bones up and walking, albeit shakily. Jim smoothed down the still damp hair with a smile, wishing he could crawl right back into bed but knowing he couldn’t, “Get some rest, Bones. I’ll be back after PT.”

Burrowing into the clean sheets and fresh pillowcase, Leonard cracked an eyelid and, with the smallest of smiles twisting his lips, ordered, “Have a shower after.”

Jim just snorted. “As if you were so fresh until half an hour ago.”

Leonard’s chuckle was lost in the pillow and his eyes slipped closed without further conversation. Jim ran his hand through the other man’s hair one last time, then set the chair rolling back to the living room.

**********

They settled into a routine of physical therapy, ‘fleet gossip, watching Leonard make slow progress, curling up together in the guest bedroom, and spending mealtimes with Boyce. In any other circumstance Jim would have expected to go absolutely stir crazy… but it felt _good_. 

Thomas, Jim’s physical therapist, worked him hard, but there wasn’t a better feeling than being able to grab a shower and then crawl in bed to wrap his aching limbs around Bones.

It lasted for a blissful three days, then Jim and Leonard were startled by the antique front door closing with a loud slam. Entwined on the sofa with an array of books and football on the holoscreen, they looked up to find Boyce hanging his cover on a hook inside the door.

Setting down the novel he’d been reading, Jim raised an eyebrow at the brusque entrance and asked, “Phil?”

Loosening the collar of his ‘fleet greys, Boyce dropped into an armchair and unceremoniously announced, “We have a deadline.”

Using his elbows to pull himself more upright, a padd of medical journals clattered to the floor as Leonard asked, “What kind of deadline?”

“Check your padds: Gretchen mentioned that they want to pull the Enterprise bridge crew in for a briefing tomorrow.”

“But Bones is still on stand down.”

Rolling his eyes, Boyce snorted in frustration, “That never stopped Richard. We could try to spirit you away, but,” he waved a hand at the padd on the floor, “you’ve probably been reading journals on the ‘fleet library system so they could easily query where you were when the message was received.”

Jim opened his messages and sure enough: priority one from Admirals Barnett and Lui, copied to all the members of the Enterprise senior staff, requesting their presence at a briefing the following afternoon. He risked a quick glance at Leonard and found the other man frowning as he checked his own padd. Skimming the message again to be sure he’d caught everything, Jim addressed Boyce directly, “Not exactly a lot of notice. What the hell do we do?”

“Gretchen was talkative— I think they want to update you on the new command structures at HQ, share the latest damage and refit plans for the Enterprise and get a sense of whether your staff would consider interim or permanent reassignment. Leonard has to go, there’s no getting around that, but we can try to hide him in the background.”

From the other side of the couch, Leonard finally spoke up, “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” It was stress that made the words come out grouchy, rather than any real venom.

Rubbing his hand over Leonard’s knee in a gesture that was intended to be soothing, Jim nonetheless kept up the conversation, “How do we keep him in the background? He’s the CMO. They’d want him up front normally, not to mention you said he’s under a lot of scrutiny right now because of me.”

“Your walking is getting a lot better, Kirk,” Boyce’s mouth twisted in something that was almost a smile, “but they don’t know that.” Catching Leonard’s frown, sensing the other doctor was thinking along the same lines and likely to object, he conceded, “It’s a risk. I’d normally tell you to show as little weakness as possible, if you want to keep the chair.”

“Jim…”

“Bones,” Jim gave the knee under his hand a gentle squeeze to forestall any objection, “It’s a risk worth taking. I died a couple weeks ago; they should be impressed enough to see me in a wheelchair.” Sensing the other man still wanted to object, he added, “I’ll make a point of standing up so they can see I’m going to be fine.” They still didn’t quite know that, not yet, but there was a tacit agreement to not voice any reservations about either of their recoveries.

Leonard sighed, raising an eyebrow towards the heavens as if Boyce’s ceiling somehow held answers as he asked, “Twenty four hours and I have to walk into a room full of admirals?” From the tone of his voice it was clearly a rhetorical question. Shifting so his bare feet pressed against Jim’s thigh, he wriggled a toe suggestively and softly added, “I guess it’s not the _dumbest_ thing I’ve ever done.”

Jim smiled.

***************** 

Boyce drove them to HQ, piloting his groundcar into the underground parking facility that was reserved for dignitaries and the admiralty. He pulled up right by the lift doors, five minutes before the meeting was scheduled to start. “Ready?” 

Leonard looked nervous, a little too grey in the face as well. Jim gave the hand clasped in his own a squeeze, then replied, “Ready.”

Boyce got the wheelchair out of the trunk and helped Jim get settled before pressing the call button for the lift. He waited until it arrived and then held the door open so Leonard could wait until the last possible moment to get out of his seat and move to take the handles of Jim’s chair. The chair was powered to roll easily, and if Leonard leaned on the handles for support no one should know any better. As the lift doors slid shut, Boyce offered them a smile that was meant to be encouraging.

Sensing the other man shifting behind him as the lift rose, Jim softly asked, “Okay, Bones?”

“Hanging in there.”

The lift doors opened again before they could talk further. Taking a deep breath, Leonard set the chair in motion down the corridor; fortunately, the briefing room was only ten meters away. 

“Captain!” 

Jim smiled despite his nerves, trust Chekov to spot them immediately. 

The young navigator positively bounded over, enthusiastically pumping his captain’s hand, “It is very good to see you, sir.”

“It’s good to see you too, Pavel.” The others crowded around then: Scotty clapping him on the shoulder, Sulu moving to shake his hand next as Uhura and Spock approached as well. It felt good to see them; he’d been so absorbed with Bones. Uhura gave Jim’s upper arm a squeeze, but stepped past him to gather Leonard into a close hug. 

The gesture was a surprise, but Leonard let go of the handles to return the embrace. He felt the moment she seemed to recognise that he’d lost weight: a brief inhale before she seemed to grip him even more tightly. Her voice was a soft puff of air against his ear, “It’s good to see you, Len.”

And damned if he’d have something to say in return if he wasn’t trying so hard to stay upright. Leonard settled for gripping her firmly in return, before they were saved by the sound of a throat being cleared across the room. Lui from the sound of it; the admirals were giving them a respectful distance, but wouldn’t wait forever. Uhura quickly stepped back and Leonard gripped the chair again. They’d planned this, together with Boyce, and Jim played his part perfectly: carefully kicking the foot rests out of the way, he pulled himself to his feet along with the attention of everyone in the room.

With a smile that turned on the Kirk charm, Jim started for the table with wave of his hand, “Still a little shaky for long distances, Admirals, but I’m getting there.” Relieved laughter met the remark, even though nothing particularly funny had been said.

Barnett smiled warmly and indicated a seat near the head of the table; Leonard took advantage of the distraction to wheel the chair, and himself, to a place further down the table than he might normally sit given his rank. Jim greeting the admirals seemed to keep everyone occupied and Leonard dropped into his chosen seat, briefly closing his eyes and taking a breath before forcing himself to sit up straight and at least look like he was paying attention.

In the bustle of noise and activity as the admirals took their own seats and the holoprojector hummed to life, Uhura leaned close to Jim’s ear and whispered, “Is Len okay?”

Equally softly, Jim replied, “He’ll be fine.” The captain realized too late it wasn’t quite the denial he should have given, but his attention was grabbed by Barnett pulling up a holo of the Enterprise, structural damage highlighted in red. Leaning towards the projection, the admiral started talking them through the latest estimates for repairs and retrofits.

It was interminable. Leonard shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. The others seemed interested enough in the presentations, but they were well over two hours in and the admirals were showing no sign of slowing down. The chair provided some support, but to appear appropriately attentive he had to sit without leaning against the back. Sliding forward, he tried to use the edge of the table to brace himself.

Three hours. Jim chanced a second glance at the chrono to confirm, then quickly back to Admiral Lui as her voice rose in a question. He answered, trying not to sound distracted as he did so. She seemed satisfied, or at least happy to continue on to another topic. As Jim listened there was a tension in his gut that seemed to increase with every flip of the chrono. 

Three hours and seventeen minutes and a yeoman finally, _finally_ , ducked apologetically into the conference room to remind Admiral Barnett that they had to catch a shuttle. Plastering a diplomatic smile on his face, Jim stood along with everyone else. As Lui shook his hand, he forced himself to not glance down the table to see how Bones was faring. Out of the corner of his eye Jim could tell that all of his crew were standing respectfully; he could also tell that his wheelchair was parked just out of Bones’ reach.

It was fine; they’d timed him and knew the doctor could stand without shaking for several minutes, about the length of time it could take for goodbyes… then Lui began to speak.

Further down the table, Leonard groaned, internally. Gretchen Lui was notorious at HQ for her ability to turn a short conversation into a half hour. Five minutes later and she was still going strong, ignoring how even Barnett was starting to shift beside her.

A trickle of sweat prickled the back of Leonard’s neck; this was officially the longest he’d held himself upright since his collapse. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, slow and even, a technique he’d mastered in his surgery rotation when he needed to stay on his feet despite being exhausted. Christ, she was still going.

The tremor started in his left knee, small at first but quickly growing until his whole leg was vibrating inside his uniform trousers. Shifting his weight, trying to get his leg to _calm the fuck down_ , Leonard almost swore aloud when his right calf gave a twinge of warning as well.

In his panic he must have made a soft noise, as Uhura’s head tipped almost imperceptibly to one side. It was a gesture he’d seen before when she was trying to comprehend a particularly faint transmission. Leonard kept his eyes firmly on the admirals, which meant he felt rather than saw her shift closer to his right side until he was closely bracketed between her and Scotty.

He’d never know how Scotty didn’t jump when Uhura’s hand snaked around Leonard’s back and grasped the engineer’s belt. After a moment of surprise where Leonard’s right leg cramped alarmingly and he gave a small groan that must have been audible to the other two, Scotty miraculously seemed to understand what was happening. 

Leonard could have wept in relief when he felt a second hand slide around his back, out of sight of the admirals in front of them. With surprising strength, and unspoken agreement, the other two effectively sandwiched Leonard between them. Shoulder to shoulder as they stood in a line, obscured from immediate scrutiny by Jim, Spock and Sulu, Leonard felt the tremors recede slightly as the others helped to carry his weight. It was only a temporary reprieve, Leonard knew, even with support he didn’t have much longer before his legs were liable to give out completely. 

Barnett finally intervened with a hand on the other admiral’s elbow as he said, “Gretchen, I’m afraid we have to go.”

There was a rushing in his ears that didn’t let Leonard hear the reply, or the final pleasantries before they hurried from the room and the Enterprise crew was left alone. The sudden silence was almost deafening. Brogue lengthened with worry, Scotty helped Leonard back into his seat with a soft, “Are ye’all right?”

Leonard licked his lips and blinked, surprised to find Jim in front of him when he looked up. “Bones?” Jim was bracing himself against the table, brow furrowed with worry to match what he could see on Scotty and Uhura’s faces as well.

Leonard waved a hand in a manner meant to be reassuring and forced a smile on his face, sickly thought it was around the edges, “I’m okay, but I thought she’d never wrap it up.”

It was Spock who put the pieces together, as usual: “You were using stimulants, were you not?”

“Yes.” Forcing a finger under the stiff collar of his dress uniform to loosen it, Leonard relaxed when it gave enough to allow him to breathe more easily. With Spock’s comment the cat was out of the bag so he figured he may as well be honest, “I was so focused on Jim I overdid it a bit. Hadn’t realized until it knocked me on my ass a few days ago.” Someone made a soft noise of dismay, probably Chekov. 

Uhura looked between them, a frown of concern creasing her forehead as she softly asked, “Does anyone know?”

Leonard shook his head, “No. Just one doctor, a friend, who’s been looking after us. Philip Boyce.”

Spock seemed to straighten at that, but before Jim could think on it Scotty spoke up, “You both look fit to fall over, begging your pardon, Captain. We should get you out of here.”

“It’s fine, Scotty. And you’re probably right.” 

Never one to shy away from bending the rules, the engineer offered, “I can arrange an off the books beam, if that would help?”

It would be ideal, although Boyce was waiting in the parking garage. Flipping open his comm, Jim said, “Kirk to Boyce.”

The doctor answered immediately, tone blandly professional in case someone else was in the room, “Boyce here. What can I do for you, Captain?”

“It finally wrapped up, but Lui got chatty at the end and Bones overdid it a little. Scotty’s offered to get us a discreet beam out.”

“If you want to go back to the house I’ll transmit the coordinates now. I can take an official beam and have the car follow on autopilot.”

“That sounds great, Phil. See you soon.” Jim’s comm pinged with the coordinates a moment after the channel closed.

Shifting apologetically, Sulu looked between the other members of the bridge crew and spoke up to say, “Pavel and I have a meeting in half an hour to go over propulsion control systems.”

Looking up from where he was fiddling with his own comm, Scotty added, “I was going to tag along as well.”

Reaching out to rest a hand on Leonard’s shoulder even as he addressed the others, Jim said, “We’ll talk more soon. I’m sorry we left you in the dark; we’re trying to address it without command getting involved and wanted to give you plausible deniability.”

“May we join you, Captain? I have not yet expressed my condolences to Captain Boyce.”

Jim gave a minute jerk of surprise at the pang that went through him that _Spock knew_ , but buried it quickly. Voice rougher than it should be, he nodded, “Sure. I don’t think he’d mind a little extra company.” Helping Leonard draw himself to his feet, he made sure the other man was stable and added, “Any time, Scotty.”

“Transporting now, sir.”

The meeting room shimmered out of existence and was replaced with the now familiar scene of Boyce’s living room. Leonard let himself drop on to the sofa with a grunt of relief, stress melting away now that command was behind them. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the rustle of the others moving around the room be a gentle background. No one seemed to be speaking, so it was a pleasant surprise when a cool cloth was draped across his forehead a minute later.

Opening his eyes, Leonard smiled crookedly at the person he found standing over him. “You’re an angel, Nyota.”

She smiled in return, the question she wouldn’t quite voice nonetheless showing in her eyes. Any conversation was forestalled by a shimmer of light and Boyce appeared as well. 

The older man quickly masked any surprise at his full living room, taking the new additions in stride, “Commander Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, welcome.”

Spock stepped forward, hand raising as his fingers formed the Vulcan salute, “I grieve with thee.”

Boyce’s welcoming smile fractured then, slipping into something more brittle as he replied, “Thank you, Spock.” 

In that moment Leonard realized that this didn’t look like a first meeting. In fact, given Spock’s role programming the Kobayashi Maru he’d certainly have crossed paths with Chris as the commandant of cadets, and the more Leonard considered it the more likely it appeared he’d met Boyce in an unofficial capacity around that time as well.

Jim sat down heavily on the couch, thigh to thigh with Leonard as if in need of some comfort himself. 

Spock lowered his hand, but moved to stand at parade rest as he continued, “I believe I should inform you that in Admiral Pike’s final moments I attempted to ease his physical pain.”

It took a moment for Jim to realize the staggering implications of that one. Eyes widening, the younger captain practically gasped, “You _melded_ with him?”

“I did.”

After a lingering moment of surprise as he considered the implications, Boyce’s voice was husky as he asked, “Do I want to know?”

Something flickered in the Vulcan’s eyes that wasn’t quite impassive. “I believe he would want you to.”

Jim stiffened on the sofa as if bracing himself. Sensing the tension, Leonard put a hand on the nape of the younger man’s neck, rubbing gently despite the fact the gesture would tell Uhura _everything_.

Keeping his attention focused on Boyce, Spock softly reported, “His final thoughts were a moment of regret, for Jim, that he would not see him regain command of the Enterprise. He firmly believed that Jim would be an outstanding captain again and maintained a sense of pride even under recent circumstances. This sentiment was only overshadowed by his deep affection for you, Captain Boyce, and sorrow that you were going to be hurt.” Taking a few seconds to find the right words, Spock took a breath and added, “In his final moments Admiral Pike realised we could communicate without words, and wished to convey a message of profound love and gratitude that you had been in his life.”

Boyce’s face had gone slack and ashen; he swallowed, but instead of speaking turned on his heel and strode out of the room. 

Looking to the men on the couch, and Uhura standing beside them, Spock asked, “Have I done something inappropriate by human standards?”

She shook her head, but it was Jim who spoke up, tiredly, “No, Spock.” The sound of the outside door off the kitchen opening and closing was just audible from the living room. Assured of privacy, Jim explained, “He hasn’t let himself do that since we got here. If anything, you probably did something right.”

It was Leonard who made a move to follow, placing his hand on Jim’s knee as if bracing himself to rise.

“Bones, you’re not…”

“I’ll be fine, Jim.” Levering himself to his feet, swaying a little but doggedly remaining upright, he started shuffling off towards the kitchen with a wave of his hand, “Y’all see about figuring out dinner.”

It was a relief to see that Boyce hadn’t gone far. The other man was standing at the railing of the expansive deck, back to the house as he faced the ocean. Leonard rolled the glass door open, offering a silent prayer that his legs had one more stretch of standing in them. The wood creaked slightly underfoot, but Boyce didn’t turn. Joining the other man at the railing, Leonard could just see that there was a sheen of dampness on his cheeks and his knuckles were white as he gripped the railing. Boyce looked like a man holding tight to keep from flying apart; that or screaming.

Leonard’s knee gave a faint twinge of warning and he took his body’s advice, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the deck, with his feet dangling from the knee and arms folded on a lower rail. The view was breathtaking: seabirds wheeling in a stiff breeze and the clear horizon of the Pacific unfolded in front of him. The house was secluded from others, and perched on the side of a hill such that it felt like they were hanging over the ocean itself.

A minute turned into two, then Boyce seemed to compose himself and moved to sit next to Leonard, legs similarly dangling. Both men kept their eyes fixed on the horizon, even as Boyce began to speak, “He wanted his ashes scattered in Mojave, but I always think of him when I see the ocean.”

“How long were you together?”

“Forever.” Boyce shrugged, “Not long enough. We met at the start of our first year in the academy: that interspecies sensitivity training that all the cadets are put through in their first week on campus. Didn’t get together right away, though. You should have seen him: blue eyes, a head of sandy blonde curls and a cockiness that he could actually back up. I was content to be his friend as he worked his way through more than the average number of undergraduate dalliances.”

“How did it change?”

“We grew up. Served together; figured out what had been there all along.” Boyce turned his head then, meeting Leonard’s eyes in a fleeting glance before turning back to the water. “Seems to be a bit of a trend with captains and CMOs.”

Leonard’s cheeks colored at the veiled reference to Jim and Leonard himself. A seagull cried in the distance, answered by another closer to the house.

A propos of nothing, Boyce softly said, “He’ll give you gray hairs.” Leonard started slightly and looked sideways, but the older man kept his gaze on the ocean. “I’m warning you now: Jim can’t change being Jim any more than Chris could change being Chris. These command types, the _good_ ones, are incapable of putting themselves first. You’ll have to help him with that. And patch him up after he’s done some damn fool thing to save the ship or an alien planet or God help you some _possibly_ sentient slime mold on a moon with contested dilithium mining rights.” From the wry note that crept into the older man’s tone, Leonard didn’t doubt there was a true story behind that one.

Leonard knew Jim Kirk. Of all the jumbled emotions that had shot through him as he unzipped the body bag, surprise hadn’t been one of them. Fear, anger, grief— emotions so sharp they’d just about brought him to his knees, right there in the med bay. Since he’d found the potential of the serum they’d converged into an almost desperate hope, and no small amount of fear that he could lose Jim all over again. “What…” _What do I do_? But also, “ _How do you bear it_?

“You get him to promise.” A wet note crept into Boyce’s voice, but he forced the words out, “Promise to come home to you. Even if everything else has to come first and he’s broken and hurting and far away, and doesn’t know if he can or not. He has to try to come home.”

Leonard suddenly remembered a mumbled mouthful of vowels that had been repeated during periods of near lucidity before Chris properly woke up after the Narada: “‘Ome to ‘im.”

“It won’t be enough, not really, not when he’s missing or about to throw himself into the path of danger, but it _will_ help. I promise.” Finally turning to look at the other man, he added, “Don’t back out because you’re scared Len. Not now, not ever.”

Gut twisting in surprise that Boyce had identified an impulse that Leonard hadn’t even recognized for himself, the younger man nodded. 

“You ever feel like running, you comm me. I’m not saying you stay with him no matter what, some things just don’t work no matter the intent, but when the shit hits the fan you’re not alone. Understand?”

Leonard nodded again, throat feeling strangely tight. The breeze from the ocean changed direction, ruffling his hair and prickling his eyes where he hadn’t realized there was an excess of moisture.

Pulling a scanner out of what seemed like thin air, Boyce managed a smirk at the surprise on Leonard’s face. “We’ll teach you that one when you make captain yourself.”

“Phil…” There was still so much to say, and he could sense the other man moving back behind the mantle of being his _doctor_.

“I know,” Boyce waved a hand between them, “I can’t hide behind work forever, but indulge me today. What happened?”

The scanner was already in motion, so Leonard capitulated and explained. “We stood up to say our goodbyes, and Lui got chatty.”

Boyce snorted, very familiar with the verbosity of Gretchen Lui. “How long were you up before you felt it?”

“I dunno. A while, though. Longer than I’ve tried standing here. At least five minutes.”

“What happened?”

“Tremor started in the left leg, then the right joined in. Uhura and Scotty realized what was happening and helped hold me up. The tremors backed off a bit then, and I managed to keep it together until the admirals left.”

“Any other symptoms? Anything overtly neurological so far as you could tell?”

Leonard shook his head, eyes tracking the progress of the scanner as if it might bite. 

Eventually snapping the device closed, Boyce met Leonard’s eyes as he asked, “Shall we go tell them the good news?”

Hardly daring to breathe, Leonard just managed to get out, “Phil?”

“Neuro regen looks good.”

 _No fucking way_ shot through Leonard’s mind; fumbling for an explanation, he said, “So today…”

“You’re still exhausted. Healing took a lot of energy, even if you spent most of it essentially unconscious. Another week or two and you should be able to start back at the gym and on surgery sims.” Sensing that his prognosis wasn’t quite sinking in, Boyce appealed to Leonard’s realism, “You’ll still feel like shit for a while, but from these scans I think a full recovery is possible. Even your fine motor control.” Slipping the scanner back into his pocket, he patted the younger man’s knee then pulled himself to his feet. 

Until he heard the words from Boyce, Leonard hadn’t appreciated that he’d been quietly writing himself off. Looking up, he squinted into the sunlight and asked, “Seriously?”

“Wouldn’t lie to you about this, Len. You can check the scans later yourself.”

Damn. The wave of relief was unexpected in its intensity. He’d never thought the prospect of being able to go into the black could feel quite like this. Then again, Leonard had never thought he’d be _with_ Jim in this way either. He suddenly needed to see the other man, and quickly hauled himself to his feet as well.

Uhura was stirring something on the stove when they opened the patio door. Jim looked up from where he seemed to be considering two bottles of wine, the expression on his face almost guilty at being caught going through another man’s cellar.

Glancing at the bottles from across the room, Boyce said, “Left hand, Jim. We’ve got an excuse to celebrate…” Slightly hoarsely, he added, “And it was Chris’ favorite.”

Quickly setting down both bottles, Jim looked searchingly at Leonard as the other man settled himself into a chair at the dining table. “Bones?”

Giving Leonard’s shoulder a squeeze, Boyce answered on his behalf, “Today may not have been smooth, but Leonard’s scans look free of any lasting neurological damage. A month of hard work, and I should be able to clear him for active starship duty.”

Rounding the table as quickly as he could, Jim crouched in front of Leonard’s chair. The rest of the room was forgotten as he softly asked, “You really want to go back out there?”

Surprising even himself with the answer, Leonard replied, “Yeah, Jim. I really do.” He meant it too, wholeheartedly.

Beaming, Jim leaned in and caught him in a kiss as if sealing a promise.


End file.
